


O Christmas Tree

by Amina



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 13:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amina/pseuds/Amina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale owns a Christmas Tree farm in Canada. Every Christmas season he drives down to New England to sell his trees. This year, he's decided to hire help: the horridly underdressed and ever so peppy Stiles Stilinski.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Christmas Tree

**Author's Note:**

> I began this before Christmas, and I only just finished it. I'm really proud of it!

 

 

The warm dry air shielded Derek from the cold weather outside the truck. Snow blew sideways over the windshield, making the dark highway disappear at the end of the hood of the car. Two men bantered good naturedly over the crackling radio, but Derek was alone. Normally, his sister, Laura, made the trek from northern Quebec down to New England with him, but she was spending the Christmas season in California this year with her boyfriend. Despite the lack of games and arguing, Derek didn't mind being alone. He could lose himself in his thoughts or sing christmas carols at the top of his lungs without anyone complaining.

The drive would take about four days to complete. It would normally only take three days, but the winter snows made the highways icy and dangerous to be driving huge eighteen wheelers filled with Christmas trees at top speed. Derek enjoyed being a part of Hale's Christmas Tree Farm. It was a dream his grandfather had that slowly became a profitable business. Grandpa Hale had wandered out in the clearing behind their house and planted ten tiny evergreen saplings, hoping that they would grow and bring some money into the home. Unfortunately, Grandpa Hale wasn't exactly the brightest and did not foresee that it would take years until the trees were fully grown. After the initial disappointment, Grandpa Hale got the hint and planted new saplings while the older ones were growing to keep up his supply. There wasn't a big demand for christmas tree's in Derek's hometown where anyone could just walk out into the woods and cut one down, so the family brought them to sell at a small hardware store in New England that only took 15% of the profit.

Derek's mother, Talia, had grown up around the business. The tree farm wasn't their primary means of living, but it always brought great joy to Talia during the holidays. As a result, she took it over after her father became too old to make the journey down to Maine every year. She brought her husband David along with her, and it was often said that the long rides south was one of their favorite things to do as a couple. Sometimes the trip would even take four days because the pair was too busy goofing around at a truck stop. When Derek and his sisters were born, Talia took two of them with her every year, rotating every other year. By the time all of them were over eighteen, Derek and Laura were the only ones still interested in continuing the trips, so they took over. Now, Laura seemed to be pulling out, moving on to bigger and better things. Derek still loved the trips. It made him think of his childhood, his mother and his father's young love, and his grandfather. He would never voice it aloud, but he hoped that he would share the trip with someone someday, just like his mother.

Derek made the trip this year in a record two days. He supposed he drove quicker when there was no one to pass the time with. The hardware store they sold the trees at was a tiny hole in the wall. The little old man who owned it didn't accept anything but cash and wore thick coke bottle glasses. He was a kind old man and brought Derek a coffee every morning when he brought out the trees to sell at the side of the shop.

This year was different. Without Laura, there was no one to help him trim the bottoms of the trees and load them on top of people's cars. His first day on the job, two people discarded their tree because Derek took too long cutting other people's trees. As much as Derek didn't want to bring in non-family members into his family's business, he needed the help, so he put up flyers around the small town, hoping there was a lumberjack or woodworker who wanted to make a couple extra bucks around the Christmas season.They were crappy, hand drawn signs, nothing very eye catching, but Derek hoped they would still bring in someone.

Derek arrived at work the next day nursing a hot apple cider. The old man was speaking with a young boy dressed in a plaid shirt. Derek shrugged and walked over to the trees to make sure none had blown down over night. While he was fixing one, the old man hobbled out with the young boy in tow.

“Mr. Hale, t-this is St-Stanley,” the old man said in his wobbly voice.

“Stiles,” the boy corrected.

“Y-yes Stiles here is interested in the job you are offering,” he explained. Derek took a step back to look at the kid. He was scrawny, horridly underdressed, and he even looked ingratiating.

“Absolutely not,” Derek said quickly, turning back to his work. The old man made a humming noise, as if deciding whether or not to speak.

“I h-hate to say this M-Mr. Hale, but his father is the Sheriff...,” he trailed off. Derek's heart melted. Of course this sweet old man had nothing to hide from the Sheriff, but he still wanted to cull favor in case he did anything wrong like break the law for being too old and sweet.

“Okay, fine,” Derek said bluntly. The old man hummed happily and retreated back into the warmth of the hardware store. Derek went back to prepping the trees for sale, but Stiles just stood there in the same spot, watching him. “What?” Derek asked angrily. Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“You haven't exactly told me what to do,”

“Just do what I'm doing,” Derek answered without looking at him. It wasn't exactly rocket science. Stiles followed him into the little forest of trees and spread the branches with him. “How old are you anyway, fourteen?” Stiles made a face.

“I'm eighteen,” he pouted. Derek stood back to look him over again. He definitely didn't look eighteen. He was lanky and there wasn't a single hair on his face. His billowy plaid shirt revealed an equally scrawny torso clothed in a thin tank top.

“You're gonna freeze dressed like that,” Derek huffed. He himself was dressed in a puffy down coat, snow pants, a trapper hat, and gloves, and he was still feeling the bite of the cold wind. He only imagine the stages of hypothermia this kid was going to go through.

“Nah, I'll be fine. The weather doesn't really bother me,” he bragged. Derek doubted that. Judging by Stiles' rosy cheeks and overall pallor, he didn't leave the house enough to become immune to the weather.

Stiles was an extremely talkative person. When Derek cut trees with Laura, they talked every once in a while, but she talked nowhere near as much as Stiles. Stiles talked about everything and everyone. He rambled on about his dad and his friend Scott and Scott's friend Isaac and the girl he liked Lydia. Derek never got a word in, not that he wanted to anyway.

“You're a quiet one aren't ya,” Stiles stated after binding a tree to the top of a volkswagen. Derek bristled.

“No, I just don't feel the need to fill my life with inane babbling,” he said bitingly. Stiles just let the insult roll off his back.

“Where are you from?”

“Canada. It said it on the flyer,” he explained.

“Are the trees from Canada too?” Derek gritted his teeth.

“Yes. It said that on the flyer too. Did you even read it?” He asked. Stiles shrugged.

“Not really. I just saw that the pay was decent and that it was a seasonal job,” Derek rolled his eyes.

By five o'clock, the short strands of Stiles' hair were frozen.

“Are you sure you're okay Stiles? You look really cold, and most people show up to buy trees about now because they're leaving work. I can't have you out here if you're going to succumb to hypothermia,” Stiles looked offended.

“ I am fine!” He shouted. Derek grunted, Jesus this kid was stubborn. To his credit, Stiles did stick out the rest of the day until seven o'clock without complaining once about the cold. Derek did note, however, that he turned the heat on immediately when he got into his beat up blue jeep.

Derek shook his head at his new employee as he walked into the hardware store. The owner threw him a set of car keys without even being asked. It was a little arrangement they had worked out. Derek would borrow his car for the few weeks that he worked selling trees because he very well couldn't drive around the giant truck, and in return Derek would keep the gas tank full and give the man two free Christmas trees.

The car smelled of the elderly. Derek couldn't pinpoint what exactly the elderly smelled like but it included menthol and mothballs. The little compact putted over to an old Diner that the Hale family had been visiting since Grandpa Hale had made the journey down to Maine.

Wolf-den Diner had seen better days. When Derek was a child, it was a quirky little stop that made “full moon pancakes” and “wolfsbane bacon”, but now it was just a slightly run down diner, lost in time. Derek ordered a cup of coffee and scrambled eggs. As he poured ketchup over them,he felt a little sad that Laura wasn't there to make fun of him for eating breakfast for dinner or drowning his eggs in ketchup.

The waitress offered him a free slice of apple pie for dessert, but Derek declined because he would be back every day for the next three weeks for dinner and didn't want to get in the habit of taking advantage of their nicety. Snow fell slowly outside the windows of the cozy diner. It wasn't one of the harsh snowstorms he was used to at home. It was a quiet snowfall, as if the snowflakes were trying not to wake the children sleeping. Derek paid for his dinner and decided to go for a walk around the center of the sleepy town.

The little shops were decorated for the holidays. Christmas trees stood in the windows of every shop. Derek wondered if any of them had bought one from him. Some shops decorated them with store bought themed ornaments while others clearly brought ornaments from home, handmade aging baubles that made Christmas seem less commercial than it is. Derek meandered about and went into a small clothing shop. The wind bit into his neck, and he wanted a scarf to keep out the chill. As he was perusing an assortment of flannel scarves, he remembered a certain plaid clothed teenager. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied an army green heavy jacket. It was lined with a grey sweatshirt like material. Maybe if Derek made Stiles wore this, he wouldn't feel like his manliness was being insulted than if he bought him a down coat. Without thinking, he found himself standing in line to purchase the coat. At the last minute, he grabbed a pair of leather gloves to shove in the pockets.

Derek returned the old man's car and walked the short distance to the inn that he was staying at. The building was more like someone's home where they rented out rooms than an inn, but it was warm and homey. As soon as he got into the room, he jumped into bed and turned the lights off.

The next day, Derek held out the jacket and gloves to Stiles when he arrived.

“Derek I am no-,” he began.

“Stiles shut up. I am not gonna watch your ass freeze again. Put on the damn jacket. I spent good money on this,” he ordered, shoving the clothing into Stiles' arms and walking away to help a customer. Stiles stood in shock for a moment before reluctantly donning the coat. Derek felt accomplished and went about his day with a smile on his face.

“We should be playing Christmas music,” Stiles said suddenly during a lull in business. Derek looked up at him, extremely confused.

“What?”

“We should play Christmas music out here. It'll inspire people to buy trees,” he suggested. Derek shook his head.

“That's stupid. People come in order to buy Christmas trees. They already want to buy them. If they come here, they buy them. It's not like someone just goes to browse a Christmas tree farm,” Derek explained. Stiles grabbed his shoulder.

“C'mon, at least it'll give us something to listen to,” Derek glared at him until he removed his hand from his shoulder. Derek stood up to stare down at him.

“And how do you suppose we get the Christmas music to play out here?” Derek asked. There were certainly no speakers out in the lot where they sold the trees.

“One minute!” Stiles held up a finger and jogged over to his jeep. He scrambled around in the back seat for a couple minutes and returned with a clunky old boombox and a mix CD. “I came prepared,” he declared, running over to the outlet outside the shop and plugging it in. He popped in the CD and began to dance slightly to the sound of “Last Christmas” by Wham. Derek burst out laughing.

“Wham?! Really?” He chortled.

“It's a great song!” Stiles shouted defensively.

“This is like the lamest Christmas song ever,” Derek criticized. Stiles just stuck out his tongue and shook his hips as he cut the bottoms of the trees off. Much to Derek's chagrin, Stiles' mix CD including such classics as “Grandma got over by a Reindeer” and “I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas”, did seem to cause more sales of Christmas trees.

Stiles worked happily, ignoring how cold he must have felt having a buzz cut during the winter time. Derek felt good that his small gift of a jacket was making him possibly a little bit warmer. He was thinking of buying Stiles a scarf or a hat, but then he wouldn't be able to see Stiles' cheeks go rosy in the wind, and his nose wouldn't have a hint of pink, and...Derek stopped himself. He shouldn't be thinking of an employee this way, let alone an employee so young.

“...Derek?” Stiles asked. He apparently had been trying to talk to the man, but Derek had been too busy thinking of the younger boy's rosy cheeks. Derek wanted to kill himself.

“What? Sorry, wasn't paying attention”

“I asked why this is the first year you've hired help. You come every year, but I don't remember you hiring anyone before,” he explained, leaning up against the fence. Derek ran a hand through his hair.

“Normally my sister comes with me, but she couldn't come this year,” he explained.

“Why not?”

“She's spending Christmas in California with her boyfriend,”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Stiles asked.

“No,”he answered frankly.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Wow, you ask a lot of questions,” Derek shouted.

“Sorry, bad habit! I'm just a curious person. Ya know, when I was in elementary school I asked so many questions that my teacher gave me a limit of six per day. It was horrible,” he continued, reverting back to the babbling Stiles that Derek had come to know. It was kind of nice that someone cared enough to even ask him those questions, but it was still intrusive.

Derek went to the diner again that night. The waitress remembered his name, and he ordered a coffee again. It was kind of a monotonous existence, but Derek liked the familiarity of it all. He knew that every year, no matter what, he would come to sell his trees and drink coffee at Wolf-den Diner. Stiles was making it uncomfortable, no longer familiar.

Out of the corner of his eye, Derek spotted a horribly underdressed teen across the street from the diner. Guessing who it was, he turned to face him. Apparently, Stiles had sensed the familiarity too as he almost immediately turned to wave frantically back wearing a huge dopey smile. Derek returned the grin, and Stiles continued on his way down the cobblestone street.

The next day at work Stiles would not leave him alone.

“So you like Wolf's den eh? I know some other places that you'll like too then!” He said excitedly, stumbling over the tree stumps he had neglected to pick up.

“No I'm fine with just Wolf's den,”

“Nah, don't be like that dude. There's a great Mexican place on the corner of Chestnut and Elm,” Stiles rambled. Derek just shook his head.

“Stiles, thank you, but I like to eat at Wolf's Den. My family has always eaten there,” he explained. Stiles stopped in his tracks.

“What do you do after you sell Christmas trees? You can't sell Christmas trees year round can you?” Derek sighed.

“When I'm not selling Christmas trees I make maple syrup,” Stiles started laughing.

“Oh my god that is so Canadian,” he snorted. Derek rolled his eyes. “God, you're like some lumberjack forest man aren't you? I bet you walk around in a flannel with the sleeves rolled up with an axe and big timberland boots right? I bet guys walk up to you all 'are you a lumberjack cause you're giving me wood!'” Stiles giggled. “Oh no, I've crossed a line haven't I?” He stopped. Derek just laughed.

“Kind of, but I'm getting used to that being around you all day,” Stiles flushed.

“Sorry, don't really have a filter,” he rubbed the back of his neck.

“It's alright. It's interesting at least,” he clapped the kid on the back.

Derek wasn't expecting to see Stiles again as he was eating at Wolf's Den that night, but sure enough Stiles was walking on the other side of the street again. And again, Derek waved and Stiles waved back. But this time, Stiles ran across the street, narrowly missing a cab speeding down the pavement. He burst through the doors of the diner, startling the wait staff and customers alike.

“Do you come here every night?” He asked, out of breath. Derek nodded. “Oh my god! When you're done, you should come with me to church,” Stiles suggested. Derek shifted uncomfortably.

“Uh...I'm not exactly religious,” he muttered.

“Oh no no no no, it's fine. I'm not religious either, well I kind of am, well not really, but what I mean is that I sing in a choir there. We’re practicing for our Christmas Eve recital. You should come listen,” he suggested eagerly.

“That sounds great Stiles, but I really should get back to the inn where I stay,”

“Don’t be silly. What are you gonna do there? Turn on some hoaky Christmas movie and drink brandy? No! Come watch us. It’ll at least be a warm place to go, and there’s free apple cider,” Derek mulled it over a bite of apple pie.

“Alright, I’ll come, but let me finish my pie first,” he ordered. Stiles sat quietly in order to not slow him down. Derek studied him when he looked out the window. The rosy red in his cheeks was slowly fading in the warm air of the diner. His legs bounced excitedly under the table, and his eyes flickered over to Derek who promptly switched his gaze back to his meal. As soon as he set his fork down on the table, Stiles leaped up, grabbed his arm, and yanked him out the door.

Next thing he knew, Derek was being whirled through the icy streets, narrowly avoiding shoppers waddling with their stacks of presents. Stiles seemed to glide through the mayhem, his cheer cutting through it. Finally, they came to a stop in front of a tall ornate church. Stained glass glowed from candlelight inside. Derek shook off his nerves as Stiles pulled him up the granite steps.

The inside of the church was beautiful. Hundreds of candles lit paintings and windows. Holly and baby’s breath adorned the pillars, and thousands of  paper snowflakes hung from the high ceilings. Derek stood motionless, trying to take it all in, but Stiles ran to the risers at the front of the room. A motley crew of teenagers, children, adults, and the elderly stood waiting for their cue from the conductor. Stiles took his place in the middle of the pack. Looking around at the empty pews, Derek decided to sit near the back. He still felt a little strange being in a church.

A woman played the first few notes to “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” and any strangeness Derek felt melted away when he heard the choir come to life. The only word that came to his mind was beautiful. The voices melded together, harmonizing, and impossibly filling the cavernous building. Stiles’ eyes shone in the candlelight, and Derek felt like he was singing to him. The conductor stopped them and asked the altos and tenors to repeat their part. Derek hadn’t even noticed the mistake they made. Stiles eyed him watchfully, making sure he hadn’t left.

The choir sang “O Come All Ye Faithful” and “Silent Night” before coming to “O Holy Night.” At this song, Stiles came to the front of the group. The rest of the choir hummed the beginning of the song. Stiles breathed deeply with his eyes closed. The piano player rang a bell, and his eyes flew open. The words sounded from his lips as clear and as beautiful as the scene around him. Derek was captivated. Stiles poured his heart into the solo, drawing the audience in and holding them there. Derek was startled when the rest of the choir began singing behind him, but Stiles’ sweet voice brought back the quiet intensity that the song demanded. When it ended, Derek could feel his heart beating against his ribcage.

The choir finished with “Joy to the World” and “Carol of the Bells”, but Derek couldn’t help but think that they paled in comparison to Stiles’ solo. Stiles wished his friends a goodnight before running over to Derek.

         "I know it*s not your usual routine, but I hope you had a nice time," Stiles said breathlessly. Derek was speechless, still in shock from the performance. Stiles eyed him nervously: "C'mon, I didn’t think my singing voice was that bad," he muttered. Derek shook his head.

“No, no no… It was...It was great,” he reassured his friend. Stiles lit up at the compliment.

“Do you wanna go get a cup of coffee?I know you’re partial to Wolf’s Den’s coffee, but my house is right around the corner, and I make a mean brew,” he suggested. Derek nodded and followed Stiles out the exit of the church. The walk home was a lot slower than the crazed sprint to the church. Stiles talked about his dad, the Sheriff, and what he was working on at the station; he talked about how Scott and Isaac were finally, tentatively, taking the leap into being a real couple; and he talked about his favorite video games he was currently working on.

The Stilinski house wasn’t anything spectacular, but it had a small cozy feel that made Derek a little homesick. Stiles kicked off his sopping boots once inside and padded over to the kitchen, leaving Derek to look at the hallway full of family photos as he discarded his layers. He watched Stiles age from a little baby cradled by a young woman to a grumpy awkward teenager. Derek looked closely at the older pictures. The woman was present in all of them, and she had similarities to Stiles. Her eyes were dark and big, and little moles speckled her face.

“Is this your mother?” He asked. Stiles popped his head out into the hallway holding a bag of New England Coffee in his hands.

“Yeah, but she’s not around anymore. She passed away when I was younger,” he said somewhat distractedly. Derek could tell that it had been a long time had passed since she had been alive, but it still affected Stiles to this day.

“I’m sorry. My mother is gone too,” he said in solidarity. Stiles smiled sadly and went back to making the coffee. Derek followed him into the kitchen, looking around as he went.

“So what do you normally do for Christmas?” Stiles asked leaning against the counter. The older man shifted his feet uncomfortably.

“Well, usually Laura’s here. So we give each other our gifts, and then we pack up the trees that we have left and drive back to Canada,” he shrugged. Stiles gaped at him.

“Are you serious? That’s no way to spend Christmas!” He exclaimed. Derek was taken aback.

“Well how are you supposed to celebrate Christmas?” He asked. Stiles sighed and inhaled like he was about to launch into a huge sprawling story, which he was.

“Well the night before you eat a ham, and then you open one of your presents, and then you watch _It’s a Wonderful Life_ for the twenty millionth time, cry over George Bailey, and then go to sleep with visions of sugar plums dancing in your head. Then, you wake up at four in the morning and run down the stairs loud enough to wake up your dad. He makes you eat some sort of hurried breakfast, and finally you get to open all the presents. You then get to spend the rest of the day eating cookies and playing with your toys,” he finished. Derek raised an eyebrow.

“You still get toys for Christmas?” Stiles shrank.

“Video games,” he answered unsurely. Derek just laughed warmly. Stiles drummed up his courage and poked Derek’s chest. “Hey, why don’t you come here for Christmas?” He suggested. Derek’s mind reeled. What did this mean? Was Stiles asking him on a date? Was he flirting with him? What was he supposed to give him for a gift? He cleared his throat.

“Uh, your dad won’t mind?” He asked, hoping the Sheriff would give him out. Unfortunately, Stiles shook his head.

“Nah, he’s the Sheriff, so helping the needy is kind of his thing,” he giggled, pouring the coffee into two mugs. Derek lifted his; a weird lumpy animal adorned it.  Stiles smiled abashedly. “I painted that when I was like four I swear,” he rubbed the back of his neck.

“What is it supposed to be?” He asked, trying to figure out where the head ended and the body began.

“A reindeer! See, the heads right there, and those are the ears,” he said, pointing to the different blobs on the cup. Derek was skeptical.

“Stiles, you drew the reindeer with ears like a dog. I don’t think their ears are that long,”

“Shut up! I was four!” He punched Derek’s arm. “Look, my mom decorated mine. That’s what it’s supposed to look like,” He said, showing a beautifully painted reindeer with white spots on its coat.

“Wow. Your mom was a much better artist than you,” he teased. Stiles shoved him hard, knocking him backward and spilling some coffee from his mug on the floor. “Aw man, look what you made me do,” he whined, crouching to clean it up with a towel. Derek shook his head, smiling to himself.

“I’ll clean it,” he said, stooping down after setting his mug on the counter. “Stiles you get up,” he demanded. Stiles batted his hand away, crazily clutching his own cup with his free hand.

“No, in this house we don’t make guests clean the floor,” he stuck out his tongue. Derek stifled a laugh.

“WIll you at least put your cup down? You’re gonna break it,” he suggested, reaching for it. Stiles backed up, holding the mug out. His shoes slipped on the coffee, and Derek lunged forward to grab the ceramic cup before it shattered against the linoleum floor. His fingertips just caught the handle, spilling more liquid on the floor but ultimately saving the cup.

“Wow, that was amazing,” Stiles said breathlessly. Derek was suddenly aware that in his efforts to save the mug, he had launched himself on top of Stiles. He backed off quickly, freeing the smaller boy. “You were so fast!” He said in awe.

“I just didn’t want something your mom painted to get broken,” he shrugged. They sat in silence on the wet floor.

“That’s so sweet,” Stiles whispered. He reached out to take the mug back, but he pushed passed Derek’s hands, slipping into the space between his arms, pressing against his chest and folding into a chaste kiss. Derek’s mind exploded in question. Instinctively, he pulled away, getting to his feet and grabbing for his coat. Stiles sat wide eyed on the floor in shock. Derek mumbled a quick goodbye before disappearing out the door.

The only thing that registered in Derek’s mind on his walk home was that he left his gloves at Stiles’ house, and he could feel his fingers becoming frostbitten. Stupid Stiles he thought, God why did he have to kiss me? Now I’ll have to buy a new pair of gloves.  When he got back to his hotel room, he threw his jacket across the room and collapsed on the bed. Why did he do that? Why was he so emotionally stunted that his first reaction to a kiss was to run away? He tangled his hands in his hair, pulling in frustration.

Stiles remained on the floor for the better part of an hour. He ran over the situation so many times in his head that he could quote everything. He analyzed it, desperately trying to figure out what he did wrong? Did he read Derek’s signals wrong? He kind of assumed that they had moved past the whole awkward strangers thing when Derek bought him a coat and certainly after he came to his rehearsal, but clearly something was wrong.

He hugged his knees to his chest to try to keep himself from crying, but tears still welled up against his will. The coffee was soaking through his jeans, a wet reminder of his failure. The front door opened, and for a moment Stiles’ heart leapt, but then then his father’s voice greeted him, crushing his little bead of hope.

“Hey Stiles how did practice go?” he said, slipping out of his jacket. “Mmm, I smell coffee,” he smiled, walking into the kitchen. Once he saw the sight of his son balled up on the floor, he dropped to hug him. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” He asked, lifting him  up and carrying him over to the sofa like he was still a small child. Stiles wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck and shook his head. “Did something happen at the church?” He asked gently. Stiles didn’t answer. “Is it a boy?” He asked once more. Stiles squeezed harder in reply. The sheriff sighed and rubbed circles on his son’s back. “Is this a job for _The Little Mermaid_?” He asked.

Ever since Stiles was little, he loved _The Little Mermaid_. Claudia had shown it to him once when he was three, and he immediately became obsessed with it. He had mermaid themed birthday parties, played mermaids in the tub with Scott, and was a mermaid for halloween at least three years in a row. Ariel got him through ear infections and stomach aches. Whenever he didn’t feel well, his mother would stay home from work and watch the movie with him until he fell asleep. When she was in the hospital, the Sheriff often came home late at night to find Stiles up watching it. At first he would get mad at his son, but he soon realized that it was just a coping mechanism. After that, the movie had evolved into a comfort for all problems in Stiles’ life. When he and Scott had their first fight, he watched the movie; when he got rejected from a college, he watched the movie; and when he got his heart broken, he watched the movie.

Stiles nodded in response to the question. The Sheriff pushed aside the work he had brought home in favor of watching _The Little Mermaid_ with his son. By eleven o’clock, Stiles was asleep.

Derek could barely sleep at all that night. He worked the whole day with his eye out for Stiles’ blue jeep. Of course the boy wouldn’t show up for work. It goes without saying that if your boss horrifically rejects your advances, you probably shouldn’t be his employee anymore. Still, Derek hoped the perky little guy would roll in around one blasting cheesy Christmas music.

Stiles didn’t show up the next day or the day after that. On the third day, Derek thought he saw a blue jeep pull up in front of the hardware store, but it was just some black jeep. At the end of the week, a cop car parked in front of the shop. Derek groaned. Had some idiot burned his house down by lighting one of his trees on fire? That happened at least once every three years, and they always try to blame it on Derek despite the fact that Christmas trees are historically extremely flammable. Derek walked up to the officer massaging his temples.

“Look officer, these trees are no more likely to start a fire than any other Christmas tree,” he began. The officer looked confused, so Derek stopped.

“Okay...that’s great?” The officer said. “Are you Derek Hale?” He asked. Derek nodded. “I’m Sheriff Stilinski…” his heart dropped. “I don’t know if you know this, but my son has been completely wrecked for a week. I came home to him on the floor sitting in spilled coffee crying. He’s watched _The Little Mermaid_ probably hundreds of times in just five days! I couldn’t get him to say who it was that hurt him, but I finally realized that he stopped going to work right after the incident” He shouted. Derek couldn’t respond. His mind was stuck on _The Little Mermaid._ “Hello? Are you listening?” he asked angrily. Derek snapped out of it, nodding again. “What did you do to the poor kid?” He asked wearily.

“I-I-He kissed me,” he paused, looking up into the Sheriff’s blue eyes. “I didn’t know what to do, and I panicked. I pulled away and kind of ran away,” he said. Shame bubbled up in his stomach just saying the words. The sheriff adjusted his weight, visibly agitated.

“Look, I don’t care if you don’t have feelings towards my son. He’s a great kid, but I know he can come on a little strong. Could you just maybe come and talk to him? He just needs some closure,” he pleaded. Derek shook his head, his heart rate  rising at the thought of it.

“I can’t do it. I’d be humiliated. Could you just tell him that I have no hard feelings and that I’ll send him his last check before the first of January?” He asked. The sheriff looked disappointed in him, but he did wave and drive away.

At the end of the day, Derek dragged himself back to his hotel. He almost slipped about ten times on the ice on the sidewalk, but he managed to keep himself dry. He checked his phone randomly only to see a text from Laura. It read: Merry Christmas Eve little brother! Derek frowned. In his angst, he had forgotten all about Christmas Eve. He couldn’t stop looking at the text and kept it out even once he got back to the hotel. He was  flipping through the channels, looking for something to fall asleep to when he came across _It’s a Wonderful Life_. Stiles had been adamant that watching this movie was the only way to celebrate Christmas, so he decided to give it a chance.

It seemed familiar to him. He supposed his parents had made him watch it once or twice when he was a kid, but there were so many kids in the family that they all just played around together in the snow on Christmas Eve. They never wanted to watch movies. Derek could see why Stiles liked the movie so much. It had a warm feeling to it, and it was about family, a better message than the usual presents and Santa fare of most Christmas movies. Derek found himself wishing that he could sweep Stiles off his feet like George Bailey did with Mary. He wanted to dance in the pool under gymnasiums and throw stones at haunted houses with Stiles. He would lasso the moon for Stiles.

Suddenly, he bolted up and shook the covers off. Slipping into his boots and forgoing his jacket, hat, and gloves, he took off for Stiles’ little house. Of course, it was snowing when he got outside, but once he started running, he couldn’t feel the cold anymore. In no time he was on the porch. The colorful lights from the tree cast a glow out the window. Derek rang the doorbell, shifting his feet slightly. The sheriff answered, and his face fell when he saw who it was. He was about to slam the door in his face when Derek spoke up:

“No wait! Stiles told me I could come celebrate Christmas with you guys,” he said. Sheriff looked skeptical. “I just want to talk with him. Could you just send him out here? I won’t even come inside,” he begged. The Sheriff relented and left to get his son.

“Stiles someone is at the door for you,” he called. Derek could hear the boy groan as he pulled himself off the couch. He appeared in the hallway and stopped when he saw Derek standing there.

“Go away!” He called, turning back towards the living room.

“Stiles wait!” Derek shouted. Stiles didn’t change his mind. Derek cleared his throat and hoped his courage would serve him well. “Buffalo gals won’t you come out tonight won’t you come out tonight won’t you come out tonight. Buffalo gals won’t you come out tonight annd dance by the light of the moon,” he sang. Just as he thought, it caught Stiles’ attention. He turned around and reluctantly met Derek at the door. He smirked.

“I see you’ve been watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_. Have you cried over George Bailey yet?” He asked.

“Not yet,” he answered. Stiles sized him up, noting the lack of jacket or any article of clothing that would keep him warm save for his boots.

“Aren’t you freezing? You’re dressed like me,” he commented. Derek stood silently.”Why are you here?” He continued.

“I left my gloves at your house,” Derek explained lamely. Stiles scrutinized him for a moment before bursting out in laughter.

“Dude, you’re insane,” he grinned, reaching behind the door and retrieving Derek’s leather gloves. He was about to close the door when Derek grabbed his forearm.

“I’m sorry,” Derek began. Stiles shook his head.

“It’s okay. It’s my fault. I was stupid. I thought you were sending me signals. I’m not exactly well versed in this type of stuff,” he said.

“No, it’s my fault. I was sending signals. I was just surprised and kind of scared when you kissed me,”

“Dude, you don’t have to give me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ line. I can handle it. I’m a big boy,” he explained. Derek came closer.

“No! I’m not just trying to make you feel better. I really really like you Stiles,” he declared. Stiles cocked his head.

“Really?” He asked cheekily.

“Yes! I like you so much that I want to dance with you to stupid Wham! Christmas songs; I want to see you sing in your concert tonight; I want to finish _It’s a Wonderful Life_ with you; I want to watch _The Little Mermaid_ with you;  and I want to laugh at your stupid lumpy reindeers,” he smiled. Stiles stepped out of the warmth to give him a hug. He began pushing in for a kiss but stopped to look him in the eyes.

“You’re not gonna run away this time right?” He asked.

“Nope,” Derek said, going in for the kiss himself, crashing his lips into the soft pink ones of the other boy. Stiles’ hands flew up to Derek’s hair, tugging on it as the kiss deepened. Stiles pulled away, hands still intertwined with Derek’s locks. His eyes were trained on the older man’s lips. “Can we go inside?” Derek asked. “Not all of us have ice running through our veins like you. I’m freezing my ass off out here,” he complained. Stiles laughed, and the moment was broken. He welcomed Derek into his toasty home, and for the first time in a long time, Derek experienced a real Christmas.


End file.
